The Unlikely Retreat: What Looking After a Ramshackle Mansion Taught Me
A housesit in Ireland redefined my idea of rest, routine, and what truly matters
We knew what we were signing up for. The ad sought “hardy people” and warned it would be more like “indoor camping” than living in the lap of luxury.
But we had a two-week gap in our itinerary and no money for accommodation. “It will be an adventure?” I say to my boyfriend—a phrase we’ve used to coax ourselves into all sorts of situations this year.
The Kilegar Estate dates back to 1813 and has quite the colourful history. Its most notable owner was Lord John Kilbracken, a James Bond-esque character of Anglo-Irish descent. He interviewed Saddam Hussein during his journalism career, flew biplane torpedo bombers in the Second World War, and competed in poker tournaments in the South of France with Ian Fleming. His life played out like a Hollywood movie; yet, his greatest passion was his home, Kilegar and the tireless pursuit of keeping it alive.
Sue Kilbracken—or Lady Sue, as she’s known to the locals—is John’s former wife and the estate’s current steward. Since his passing, she has poured heart and soul into keeping this behemoth afloat, from mushroom festivals and yoga retreats to council funding. But she’s fighting a losing battle. This place needs a lottery win.
We’ve stepped in as temporary caretakers while Sue visits family abroad, taking care of the estate and her 10-year-old border collie, Toby. On our first night, she shared stories of the estate’s harsher realities—like one brutal winter when the temperature inside the house plummeted to -14°C. The pipes froze solid, and the walls were covered in ice. We experienced the effects of the cold on our first night when after a few too many nightcaps, we cockily thought we could sleep without the heater on. We woke up the next day with a cold and throats so sore, you’d think we chuffed on a carton of Marlboro Golds.
Hearing stories like this, it’s hard to imagine why anyone would endure the relentless challenges of living here. But as we soon discovered, something about Kilegar makes even its coldest nights worth fighting for.
The grounds are epic. 400 acres of sprawling woodland, lakes, oak groves, faerie doors and secret paths. The only sound that breaks the hair-raising silence is a particularly vocal donkey from a neighbouring property.
Most of our time was spent in the kitchen, huddled next to the creaking Rayburn, which needed constant feeding to keep the hot water going. There was Wi-Fi, but it was only accessible from one room of the house, which made it more of an effort to hunt down than to go without. The lack of technology, was a blessing and part of the reason why we signed up to the sit in the first place—to get away from the noise of modern life.
Living life by the Rayburn meant our clothes, hair, and skin, became saturated with smoke. But it gave us other gifts. We were reading more, eating more mindfully, restoring our health, and getting our minds right. I even got around to tightening all the buttons on my coats. A small but seriously satisfying accomplishment.
Our days became monotonous in a beautiful way.
Wake up. Make tea. Get the fire going. Walk and feed the dog. Chop wood. Make coffee. Write. Cook dinner. Make tea. Feed the dog. Read. Sleep. Repeat.
The week before arriving, we’d packed and driven up from another housesit in West Cork, attended a wedding in Barcelona, and a funeral in Dublin. We were exhausted and craved routine, stillness, and simplicity.
Kilegar was the perfect reset button.
My boyfriend recently told me that every year, Bill Gates retreats to the Pacific Northwest for seven days of seclusion, which he calls his “Think Week.” During this time, he completely disconnects from family, friends, and work, and uses the time to, well, think.
Oh, the luxury!
Granted, most of us can’t abandon our responsibilities for a full week. But what about a weekend each year or an afternoon a month? When was the last time you fully disconnected and gave yourself the gift of free time?
The new year is nearly here, with resolutions we often abandon before February. But what if we committed to carving out time to leave distractions behind and truly think about our lives? My boyfriend and I always joke that if people planned their marriages as well as they planned their weddings, divorce rates would be much lower. The same principle applies to the rest of life.
I know this all too well. I’d been swept along by the velocity of life, determined to tick off society’s idolised “lists” until I stopped and took this year of housesitting to reclaim that time.
I’ve come to see our housesitting journey as a bit like an episode of Catchphrase. Some tiles reveal themselves quickly—the things I know I love, like writing, and time in nature. Others remain frustratingly unclear, leaving me staring at gaps, wondering what’s missing. But that’s okay. Life isn’t a puzzle to be solved.
Even Kilegar, with its cracks in the walls and holes in the roof, has beauty in its imperfection. And if this once-grand estate can exist peacefully in its incompleteness, why can’t I? Maybe the magic lies in revealing a little more each day and being okay with the parts we can’t yet see.
We should take all the necessary time to uncover those gaps—Rome wasn’t built in a day. But denying ourselves the chance to explore them, or suppressing the urge to piece together the picture, would be the greatest injustice we could do to ourselves.
Our next housesit was in a detached modern home, complete with all the mod-cons: a fancy coffee machine, a flat-screen TV, and central heating (which I’ll never take for granted again). But the funny thing is, I missed the “ruin with a view,” as Lady Sue calls it. It’s made me think that maybe there’s luxury in simplicity and the real burden is excess. Because when you have everything, where do you go from there?
The rituals we created during those two weeks—time in nature, disconnection from technology, and laborious work—bestowed a sense of purpose, connection, and satisfaction. And those are the rituals and rewards I want to continue to reap.
Perhaps you can find your own version of Kilegar. I challenge you over the next week, to carve out a small stretch of time for yourself, and no one else, to simply think, and be.
Who knows what you’ll discover?
