Eliza Ecclestone

I remember Rock Hudson walking into the room. I had a little autograph album and went over to him with it. He was very cross at the time. He did sign it, but in a very cross way. I must have interrupted him or something, because he was clearly not happy. There was a bank of mirrors along one wall and the person I was most interested in on the shoot was the hair and makeup lady. She would be there, and she used to tuck flowers into our hair. She was absolutely lovely. There were just all these stars around, and it took me about 20 years to really realise the level of star power there was. Elizabeth Taylor, Kim Novak, Rock Hudson, Tony Curtis – the list just kept going. You said the film was called The Mirror Crack’d. Why haven’t I heard of it before? Well, it’s not the best film you’ll ever see, but it’s amazing in terms of its star power. I used to sit on the stairs and watch Elizabeth Taylor doing her thing. I made friends with one of the cameramen and one of the sound team, and I just really enjoyed watching the whole thing come together. And I guess that sparked your interest in film, and maybe makeup as well, at a very young age. Well, I actually have no interest in hair and makeup, but I do in film – particularly when it comes to here. Most big houses have things like wings, which can easily be subdivided for different uses, but that’s not the case with this house. So the question becomes: how do you generate the necessary income to keep everything going? We started off doing weddings in the gardens, which worked well, but they weren’t hugely profitable, even though they were incredibly expensive for the couples. They’re also quite tricky. The jeopardy is high if anything goes wrong – a power cut, for example, is a big deal. Although films are also all-consuming, with things like walls being built in the middle of the kitchen and the family ending up living in a corridor somewhere, the film teams handle all of that and just get on with it. Do you market the location to studios? The best projects really come through word of mouth. Filming in England was booming when we started, and as a result people in the industry were often promoted quite quickly. They might start here on smaller projects, but then come back when they’d worked their way up to bigger productions. The bigger films are much better – not only because they pay more, but because they take things far more seriously. That means there’s less chance of damage, and keeping the whole place safe is obviously our number one priority. Do you still feel the same buzz and excitement from filming as you did as a child? I love it, but it’s crazy. I cannot believe there’s a crazier industry. They work everything out before they arrive, and then clunk it all into place, so it’s always quite frenetic.

…the doorbell rang at 6.30 in the morning and there were about 150 people outside. I asked what was going on and they told me they were there to start shooting.

On one occasion, I’d been talking to someone about possibly doing a shoot on a certain day, but I hadn’t heard anything further, so I assumed it wasn’t happening. Then the doorbell rang at 6.30 in the morning and there were about 150 people outside. I asked what was going on and they told me they were there to start shooting. I reminded them that we hadn’t even agreed a rate, so we had to do that on the spot. In hindsight,
I could have charged them anything – which really illustrates how crazy the industry is. You watch the various departments on set working together and it looks bonkers, but in the end they produce these wonderful films. It must give a good insight into why filmmaking is so expensive. My team are used to making sure everything comes in on budget, with decisions made so things are long-lasting and as efficient as possible. The film world is totally different. A piece of kit might need lifting or moving, and although there are people around, they can’t do that because it’s not in their job description or contract. That may sound odd, but it’s actually very important – otherwise they wouldn’t need to employ both people. So there are lots of things that don’t make sense to a team used to efficiency when you look at it from the outside. But equally, that team wouldn’t be able to create the magic that film crews do. Quite a bit of the outside filming for a recent TV series, The Great, was shot here – things like the hunting scenes and carriage chases. The first time they came to look around, they asked, “Do you have anywhere we can film a carriage chase and a bear attack?” Of course I said yes. I had no idea at the time, but we can nearly always find something suitable. I had assumed film teams worked more or less in isolation, but it sounds as though you and your team actively suggest locations. Absolutely. There are around 3,000 acres here, of which 300 are woodland. So they’ll say, “We need a wood,” and we then have to ask, “What sort of wood?” We’ve got beech woodland, new growth that could look like a plantation, and an amazing arboretum. Are you after dark and spooky? Do you want to see the forest floor? Because you won’t get growth in darker areas – and so it goes on. The hardest part is extracting from their heads what they’re looking for, in words, so we can take them to the right places. Another problem is that ideas often get distorted through Chinese whispers. It’s usually a location manager who does the initial recce, not the director. If they’ve only been told they need to find “a wood”, their idea may not match the director’s vision at all. There was one occasion when we were asked for a beautiful clearing in the middle of a wood. We found what we thought was perfect, but the director didn’t agree. At the same time, we happened to be doing forestry work down a nearby track, so it looked as though a bomb had gone off – piles of logs, brash on fire. It couldn’t have looked less beautiful. But he saw it and said, “Oh, we’ve really left Kansas now, haven’t we?” – a reference to The Wizard of Oz – and said it was perfect. I would never have thought to take them there, but they ended up building a war-torn Russian village on that site, complete with a fully working church and steeple. It was extraordinary. Is the main driver of these projects to raise funds to preserve the house? First and foremost, we’re a business. It’s not just about the building or the estate. We employ our own team and are part of the local economy, using local contractors for whom the work we provide forms a significant part of their income. There’s a whole ecosystem built around this. We’ve also created what we call a film-friendly community. If there’s something we can’t provide at St Clere, we’ll have found someone who can. For example, we don’t have a cricket pitch, so we’ve partnered with local pitch owners. We’ve done the same with the local pub, the church, and a stretch of river, so everything is available if needed. Would you describe yourself as a businessperson at heart? Definitely. My parents were able to run this place with the farm and make enough money to keep the estate going and live comfortably, but that’s no longer viable for places like this. You have to generate enough income to support them properly. For example, we had a massive ash dieback problem across the estate. It would have cost around half a million pounds to bring in specialists to clear it safely along footpaths and roads.
Instead, we invested in the equipment ourselves and created our own team to do the work. It comes back to that idea of an ecosystem – using the money we generate to reinvest in the estate and the local community.

My parents were able to run this place with the farm and make enough money to keep the estate going and live comfortably, but that’s no longer viable for places like this

Watching the dieback must have been terrible. It was devastating. For around 40 years up to 2010, woodlands across England weren’t managed because they had no value. As a result, people lost touch with how woodland management works. When disease hits, it often requires quite aggressive intervention. One of our biggest challenges was that the moment we started cutting down trees to manage the dieback, neighbours panicked. Because this kind of work had become so unusual, people assumed we were clearing land for development. Naturally, that caused a lot of upset and anger – even though we were doing it to help. Would it be fair to say that was partly down to a lack of communication? Yes, and there was another similar situation about six or seven years ago. I applied to build some houses near Kemsing station. It’s a completely hidden site, right next to a station with a 35-minute journey to London. I thought we could create affordable, carbon-neutral housing that people would welcome. I’m guessing that wasn’t the case. It was interesting. Most developments here get 100% objections, but this one had roughly a third objecting, a third strongly supporting it and a third saying that if there had to be new housing, this was a good example. Ultimately, though, they didn’t want any new housing at all. Before submitting it to the local plan, I asked myself what my great-great-great uncle would have done. I’m confident he would have added housing to the village – which is now a conservation area precisely because it was done so well. That approach puts money into making a place beautiful, not just into the houses themselves. Volume housebuilders tend to put all their money into what they can sell. Responsible developers accept lost profit to invest in trees, walls, roads and public space. You don’t regret that someone built a village in the Cotswolds – you rejoice in it. But someone had to pay for that beauty. It’s frustrating that we can’t move the dial, because many large builders promise quality but don’t deliver it. So coming back to communication, I realised the key message people needed to hear was that they could trust me. I was wrong to assume that would be obvious. Unlike large developers based hundreds of miles away, if I didn’t do what I said I would, everyone would know exactly where to find me. In the end, the proposal wasn’t rejected, but the local plan it would have formed part of wasn’t approved, for reasons beyond our control. I’ve taken stock and will try again – but this time with much clearer communication. I want people to understand the complexities of running places like this, and to see that we are genuinely trying to do the right thing. I hope people feel it’s better that we stay and manage the estate responsibly rather than selling up – that we’re good for the community, that we employ people and contribute positively. It’s difficult to explain the challenges without sounding like you’re saying “poor me”, because that’s certainly not how I feel. That is a tricky balance. The work we’ve done so far has been very positive. With the forestry, for example, we now put up banners explaining that work is part of a woodland management plan approved by the Forestry Commission. I share information on Facebook, including photos showing the rot inside diseased trees, and explain that we’re just as upset as anyone about losing them. Now, if someone posts in a local Facebook group about trees being cut down, others will step in and explain why it’s happening and defend the work.

Many of the projects you’re undertaking are long-term initiatives. They’re clearly about what you leave for future generations. We focus very much on the hundred-year view. It’s the thing I feel luckiest about – every decision is made by asking whether it will still be the right one in a hundred years’ time. Why does that make you feel lucky? Because most people are only accountable in the short term, and without long-term responsibility there’s little incentive to care. If I’m choosing a tap for a property, I’ll choose one that could last a hundred years. If it’s also beautiful to use, people won’t be irritated by it and won’t want to leave – along with all the other carefully considered details in their home. Can you give an example of a recent project on the main house? The most obvious is the roof, which needed to be completely replaced. This is a Grade I listed building, so materials have to be like for like. That meant sourcing tiles made from stone from a very specific quarry that no longer exists. Every similar building is competing for the same tiles, so prices rise rapidly. Once you’ve sourced the materials, a project of that scale – with all the additional requirements we face – takes about a year to complete. After all that, can you even see the roof? Believe it or not, it’s not very big. You’d have to walk to the top of the Downs and look back to fully appreciate it. What’s next on the list? I’d love to fully restore the hedgerows across the estate and add new ones where needed. Thick, beautiful hedges full of biodiversity. But as we discussed earlier, I’d need housing development approved to fund that. Proper hedging is a huge investment, but it would bring enormous ecological and visual benefits.

Much of what you do clearly benefits the wider community. I’ve been told that during the pandemic you were able to play a key role in providing support. I’m very lucky because my work means I know a lot of people locally. The business is like running a mini country – fishing, forestry, planning, events, filming, charity work. People tend to pick up the phone to you. I caught Covid early on and isolated, thankfully without severe symptoms. During that time, I saw huge goodwill online, but also that it needed coordination. I called Steph Harrison, who’s at the heart of so much good work locally, and Peter Fleming, then leader of Sevenoaks District Council. I told them I planned to post on Facebook to help coordinate volunteers, and they both agreed to support it. I posted about 45 minutes later, and within 24 hours we had 2,500 volunteers, organised by parish with lead volunteers managing things on the ground. We also realised many people needing help couldn’t communicate digitally, so we set up a donation scheme for old phones and laptops. Volunteers refurbished them, others trained recipients to use them, so they could FaceTime their families. We also created our own food bank – the Lockdown Larder – because many people didn’t qualify for existing schemes. Local supermarkets donated surplus food. People could choose what they needed, and volunteers delivered it. We then set up a school support service, Invicta Academy. It was extraordinary, though sadly no longer running. Online schooling had huge challenges, particularly around safeguarding. Our model – now adopted internationally – reached hard-to-access groups, including ethnic minorities and deprived areas. What made it so effective? Teachers taught online without seeing students. A teaching assistant acted as an intermediary, relaying questions from students to the teacher. It was simple, but incredibly effective. After lockdown, many wanted to keep using it – lessons were uninterrupted, students opted in willingly, and it really supported less confident learners. It sounds like an extraordinary time. It was. It felt like having a superpower – identifying a problem, finding a solution, and having the right people ready to make it happen. And you were recognised for that work. I was awarded a British Empire Medal, which was a lovely thing to receive. Do you miss that intensity? I do, but in many ways, it feels connected to everything else I’ve done here. Whether it’s film crews, forestry teams, or volunteers during a crisis, it all comes down to understanding what’s needed and putting the right people in place. When I think back to sitting on those stairs as a child, watching Elizabeth Taylor and the crew at work, I realise that’s what I was learning without knowing it – how many moving parts it takes to create something that looks effortless. The cast has changed and the sets are different, but the principle is the same. Get the right people together, give them the space to do their jobs properly and something remarkable can happen.