The owners of this Palladian masterpiece amassed an enviable collection of exotic plants before it all burned to the ground

An feature in the April 14, 1934, edition of Country Life offered wise counsel. Counsel that is as true today as it was then: ‘The main causes of country house fires have been well established. They are of two origins, arising from faulty construction and ill-advised adaptations. Before making any structural alteration to an old house, however small, the question should always be asked: Will it increase the risk of fire?'

The reason for this statement was the recent increase of damage to, or total destruction of, dozens of large historic home across the country. Stoke Edith, Lulworth Castle, Hagley Hall, Clifford Chambers, Aylesford, The Friars and Castle Hill had all been decimated by fire. But this piece referred not to any of them, but to a house recorded in the magazine in 1916.

Carclew was first described in Country Life, in 1900, as a 'cold jewel set in a rich blaze of enamel, formed of banks of multi-coloured rhododendrons.’ Situated near the Devoran Creek, above Falmouth, the stark, granite Cornish house enjoyed a climate somewhat warmer than its austere exterior suggested.

The grand old house had been started, but nowhere near finished, in the 1720s. When its owner died, it languished in it’s unfinished, unloved state for about 20 years.

In 1749, William Lemon, a man whose family had made a considerable fortune in copper and tin, retired to the countryside.

Lemon charged his architect, one William Edwards, with the task of altering and enlarging the boxy granite house. He, sadly, did not get to savour the fruits of his architect’s labours — there's a theme here — because he died in 1760. His son, another William, continued with the works, and Carclew blossomed into an elegant Palladian country home complete with long colonnades terminating in symmetrical pavilions.

The architectural feature of 1916 described Carclew as having a ‘pleasant character’, even if it somewhat haughtily also noted, that it was 'a good example of the classical taste as the Victorians understood it.'

However, it was what lay outside that was said to be the property's crowning glory.

The sheltered position, and Cornwall's sub-tropical climate, proved to be the perfect arena for plant collecting — a passion of Sir Charles Lemon (the first William's grandson).

The third Lemon's wealth meant that he could sponsor Sir Joseph Hooker’s 19th-century, three-year plant hunting expedition to the Himalayas. It was on that expedition that rhododendrons and azaleas were first harvested and brought back to Europe, and Lemon was among the first to establish the extravagant shrubs in British soil.

When Country Life turned up at the door, in 1916, while the house was in the ownership of Lemon ancestors Captain and Lady Tremayne, the colourful, but vigorous plants were said to possess 'so great a girth that a man cannot span their stems.’

The gardens harboured plenty more exotic plants, from all four corners of the globe. Camellias, rare tree-ferns, bamboos and Mexican flame trees all flourished. Cornwall’s eccentric gunnera competition — an informal, seasonal race to see who can grow the largest Gunnera manicata or the now-classified invasive hybrid Gunnera x cryptica — was often won by mammoth-leaved specimens from the estate's grounds

Treymane shared his ancestor’s love of plants, adding vast drifts of Japanese irises to the sides of the two pools in the grounds.

Unlike so many other large properties in this era, Carclew and her Arcadian grounds emerged from the other side of the First World War and the decade that followed relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, this was when things started to go wrong. Very wrong.

At about 2am, on a day in April, 1934, Tremayne woke to find his bedroom full of smoke. He struggled, along with his wife, to escape the fierce flames, even climbing onto the now very hot roof. Thankfully, the couple had installed telephones around the house and a quick call to a housemaid in the basement confirmed that the servant's stairs were currently safe. Everyone escaped with their lives.

Downstairs, Tremayne set to work organising his ‘troops’. (He would later praise his staff for 'working like heroes, paying no attention to their own safety, getting all the children out and all the maids from the attics.’)

Apart from a few Chippendale chairs and a portrait of one of the Lemons, nothing much survived. A Canaletto, a Rembrandt, and other priceless artefacts, were all gobbled up by the fire and everyone from landowner to footman was left with just the clothes they were wearing.

Carclew stood in ruins.

The cause of the fire? It was eventually judged to be the fault of electrical cables, installed around the birth of the 20th century.

There was initial talk of rebuilding, but then came the Second World War. A remaining wing was handed over to American soldiers involved in the D-Day landings and, later, to refugees displaced by the fighting. When the war ended, so did the occupation of Carclew.

The shell of the once-great home still stands today — on private land — and a forest school has been set up in the magnificent grounds.

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