perspective

The Bulloughs of Kinloch Castle

As you may have noticed, I’ve been away for a couple of weeks. I spent my days off in Scotland’s Inner Hebrides, in search of the legacy of the only famous person there has ever been with the same surname as me: Sir George Bullough, a late Victorian moustachioed flaneur who inherited a fortune and spent it hard on horses, yachts and the Isle of Rum.

He gifted the island a mausoleum and a castle that is architecturally foul even by late-Victorian standards (“nothing that a good fire and subsequent demolition couldn’t rectify”), but us Bulloughs have to take what we’re given, so I dragged the family off to have a look, even though we are – at least as far as I know – completely unrelated to him. 

In its glory days, Kinloch Castle – which looks vaguely like a sandstone version of Shawshank prison reimagined by someone who’s read too much Walter Scott – was quite something. Sir George imported 250,000 tonnes of topsoil for the gardens, built heated greenhouses for his collections of hummingbirds, alligators and turtles, and installed one of Scotland’s first electricity generators. He paid his gardeners extra if they wore kilts, and built the laundry on the uninhabited north side of the island because his wife didn’t want anyone to see her knickers drying on the line.

Like the Titanic, the castle is a monument to the hubris of the European ruling classes in the years before World War One. Built at vast expense, it relied on a reserve of cheaply-paid labour that vanished with the arrival of hostilities, and – as with the European empires of the time – never recovered.

“There were only the boys left, of which I was one, to maintain the gardens and the greenhouses,” remembered a gardener in a passage quoted in a book on the Bulloughs. “The grapes, the peaches and the orchids vanished, gradually sliding into the wilderness of weeds and broken glass that marks their position today.”

Sir George and Lady Monica’s wealth never recovered either. In her old age, Lady Monica sold the island at a knock-down price to the Scottish government, which has let the castle slip into disrepair, and I can’t say I blame it.

This feels symbolic too. The decades after 1914 marked a collapse in wealth inequality, and a playboy’s crumbling mansion was an apt metaphor for how profligate that whole generation looked to those who came later.

However, the wheel keeps turning: wealth inequality started to grow once more in the 1970s, and is now – including, worryingly, in the United Kingdom – approaching previous heights. “At the top of the American economic summit, the richest of the nation’s rich now hold as large a wealth share as they did in the 1920s,” it says here.

This is bad news for democracy and risks sending us back to a future when those of us whose net worth does not include multiple commas have to live in an isolated hovel in a midgy, rainswept bay and wash oligarchs’ underwear. But bad news for democracy could be good news for Sir George’s folly. Kinloch Castle is on the market for 750,000 pounds, although its new owners are unlikely to be able to move in immediately. “It requires significant refurbishment to return it to full residential or hospitality use. Repair and redevelopment costs are likely to be in the region of approximately 10 million pounds or more,” the estate agent notes. 

Having looked at it, and considering its isolated location, I would say 20 million is a more reasonable estimate but, whatever the cost, surely some of my readers have a few quid they can chuck at the one material legacy left to this world by a Bullough? And since you ask: yes, once you’ve patched the roof, restored the orchestrion and employed some decent chefs, I’d be more than willing to come and stay. The island is absolutely stunning. In buying Rum, if in nothing else, Sir George showed excellent taste.

A NEW AGE OF INEQUALITY

It is sadly easier to spot sell signals after a market has crashed. To his contemporaries, Sir George’s castle – along with the other extravagances of the Gilded Age – presumably looked like a perfectly reasonable thing to spend money on, rather than a symbol of excess and frivolity. I would challenge anyone, however, to look at Trojena and not think that it is a gigantic flashing stop sign for civilisation.

A proposed ski resort in Saudi Arabia, it is being built in mountains where there is almost no precipitation, so all the water must come from the ocean, which is at a distance of 200 km laterally and 2.6km vertically. Once the salt has been removed (at a vast cost in both money and carbon), the water is to be pumped uphill through a metre-diameter pipe, and then stored in an artificial lake, which will provide all the resort’s needs, including for the manufacture of the snow required for its 30km of runs. The 140 meter-deep lake requires three separate dams and will cost $4.7 billion to build, according to Italian company Webuild. Just filling it up will take two years of pumping.

“Webuild will also create the futuristic Bow, an architectural structure that will extend the surface of the lake beyond the front of the main dam. It will be shaped like the prow of a ship suspended over the valley, and will house a luxury hotel, as well as a residential area and a large central atrium, with accommodation and hospitality facilities,” the company stated.

This is part of the Neom project and, like all the other bits, looks like a snazzy futuristic vision in the architects’ renderings, when in fact it is a deranged climate-destroying hellscape, which even Mohammed bin Salman is struggling to afford. Trojena is supposed to be hosting the Asian Winter Games in 2029, but apparently Riyadh has been sounding out whether another city could step in so they can do it four years later. 

My optimistic prediction is that, in a century’s time, regardless of whether Trojena ever hosts a skiing competition or not, someone will be looking at its ruins and making notes for a sarcastic newsletter about the excesses of this age of inequality. My pessimistic prediction is so depressing it doesn’t bear thinking about.

A version of this story was published in this week’s Oligarchy newsletter. Sign up here.