A small outcry over the imposition of entrance fees to Cirencester Park is an interesting moment, and it may prove more significant than it first appears. Sir Benjamin Bathurst, a wealthy slave trader, acquired the stunning estate in 1695 and it remains in the family’s hands. The park sits beside the town of Cirencester and, ever since its inception, people have been allowed through the gates for walking, playing and imbibing the scent of lime blossom from its magnificent avenue of mature trees.
The parkland, landscaped in the 18th century, has been the de facto town park: children have climbed trees there, and residents with tiny back yards have enjoyed the many scientifically proven physical and mental health benefits of exercising in a very large green back yard. There are similar arrangements at other estates, such as Blenheim, where the townsfolk of Woodstock – similarly adjacent to estate walls – can wander fairly freely into vast swathes of parkland on their doorstep.
This centuries-old arrangement arises because previous lords recognised a social contract: they needed the town as much as residents benefited from access. Besides, it would be provocative to keep the hoi polloi confined to their grimy little streets when there was so much green space just over the wall. Now that social contract is crumbling. The Bathurst estate is due to activate electronic gates and a ticket booth at Cirencester Park, charging pedestrians £4 for a day pass (locals can pay a £10 deposit for a “free” access card). Lord Bathurst appeals for “help” to run the park; poorer residents will struggle to prioritise paying £10 to enjoy an avenue of limes.
Rarely are land rights questioned in any way in Britain, but this heartfelt outcry from one English town is similar to the Covid lockdowns when, desperately requiring local green space, many people began to question why so much land was out of bounds. Why do we only have a right to roam over 8% of England? And clear rights to swim or paddle in 3% of rivers?
These questions are growing because Lord Bathurst’s charges are part of a bigger trend. Large estates are run on increasingly commercial lines. It’s cash for access. And landowners are shaking down visitors for every penny. Most of us accept that if we drive a car into a grand estate we must pay handsomely for parking (£9 for six hours at Cirencester Park). Fair enough, if we want to purchase a guided tour, a well-priced coffee, or treat our dogs to the Bathurst estate’s special dog-wash. But charges for a walker who seeks nothing more than the peaceful enjoyment of the green fields of England?
Local residents have called in the Right to Roam campaign, which has organised a “mass trespass” in the park this weekend, with speeches and games for children. For many, the fact that many grand estates are built on colonial plunder and slavery adds to the importance of them acknowledging their social obligations today. Labour has already U-turned on its commitment to a Scottish-style right to roam law in England. But it would be in the landed gentry’s own best interests to encourage the next government to take some steps to widen access, and for the grand old estates to restore their pragmatic approach of recent centuries – freely giving the little people a little access. Without such modest compromises, the clamour for more rights to roam will become an irresistible movement.