The Bannerman's Somerset home is the best of both worlds

There are many things to note about Ashington Manor in Somerset, not least that, in the 16th century, it was the home of Ursula St Barbe, wife of Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth I’s chief fixer, whose machinations precipitated the gruesome end of Mary, Queen of Scots.

Although she primped it up with a fancy new façade and oriel windows, it had mixed fortunes in the following centuries until it was stumbled upon by Isabel and Julian Bannerman. The couple are makers of magical gardens, who have cast their spell for The King, Sting and Trudie Styler, Jasper Conran and Keith Tyson, as well as further afield, including in Lower Manhattan, New York, where a garden they designed commemorates the British and Commonwealth victims of the attack on the World Trade Centre in 2001.

However, what is remarkable on a crisp morning beneath the mullioned windows of Ashington’s double-height great hall is that it is almost toastily warm, in a way that could never be achieved by even the most generously proportioned hearth.

Most people who spend time in leaky, historic piles resign themselves to the fact that if they want to enjoy the heady smell of old oak, the texture of worn stone and the gentle creak of mortise and tenon joints tapped together three or four centuries ago, the price they must pay is wearing thick socks and a gilet all day (and night). They cling to the Aga like a limpet and feel pathetically grateful when handed a hot-water bottle or find, to their delight, that someone has remembered to flick the switch on one of the world’s least expensive luxuries — an electric blanket.

All the while, however, they summon all their pragmatism to square this discomfort with the fact that they’re in a house that has remained pretty much untouched since it was built, save for some woefully inadequate central heating. It’s the contract you make with authenticity.

Ashington Manor is different, thanks to an 8kW Daikin heat pump powered by 27 solar panels in a field behind the house, which together provide a constant source of heat that gently seeps into the house via the original Blue Lias floors revealed in the restoration. Where possible, insulation is provided by Glapor, made from recycled glass and Lime-crete, which creates breathable floors. Encouragement was provided by one of the Bannermans’ sons, Rex, an academic who specialises in quantum physics at Southampton University. Ashington joins other recently restored historic houses, such as Athelhampton in Dorset and Tottenham House in Wiltshire (where there are plans for a 40-acre solar farm), as an example of how thermal efficiency and sympathetic restoration can sit quite happily side by side.

Once the Bannermans had completed the painstaking task of restoring the structure to one that St Barbe would recognise, Gilbert, their antique-dealer son, helped them track down pieces that would make it their own. Their approach to interiors is unburdened by weighty historicism; in the couple’s bedroom, a vivid mix of green and raspberry-red bed hangings, crewel work, cheery chintz and a poster or two reminds you that you aren’t in a museum. They have no fear of scale or quantity, but understand that both require an artful balance to ensure they don’t overwhelm.

In the kitchen are classical reliefs, a plasterwork of Sir Richard Grenville (the explorer whose father captained Mary Rose) and enough antique china to stock a shop or two. The result, like their gardens, is romantic and playful, rather than po-faced. They also understand creature comforts; new elm floors and carefully planned bathrooms ensure that there are no compromises.

The Bannermans have a reputation for being flighty buyers and sellers of a succession of houses. In fact, they have owned only four (excluding a non-starter) since 1982, making them bang on the national average of a move every 10 years. Average isn’t a name that can be used to describe their homes; the first was the Ivy, a Grade I-listed Baroque masterpiece in Chippenham, Wiltshire, followed by Hanham Court on the eastern extremes of Bristol. There, they got into their stride, fighting their way through leylandii and copper beeches to reveal a gem of a house and garden that dated back to, or possibly before, the Norman Conquest, on which most subsequent centuries had left their mark, including magnificent gates that were added during the Tudor period.

A veil is discreetly drawn over the next in Norfolk (there is usually an architectural lost cause buried in the past of anyone with a track record of restoration). Attention then turned to the magnificent Trematon, a motte-and-bailey castle near Saltash in Cornwall that is thought to have been built on the site of a Roman fort and has a commanding position over the Tamar valley.

Each of this succession of houses offered different challenges, but Ashington was perhaps the greatest; ravaged by a fire in the early 19th century, it became the architectural equivalent of a cut-and-shut car, simultaneously saved and savaged by the addition of a new floor that stunted the height of the great hall. What had earlier been an expression of St Barbe’s social elevation became a functional — and compromised — farmhouse, but the Bannermans’ patient unpicking of the house and harnessing of natural resources has brought it to life in a way that offers a blueprint for restoration in the 21st century.

This article first appeared in the April 8 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

Gilbert Bannerman will be on stand E16 at the Spring Fair, Battersea Park, London SW11, from May 12–17