Big house work

The National Trust needs more volunteer stewards, so Faith Eckersall went to Kingston Lacy (or KL to those in the know) to try out the job for a day.

10.40am. Thanks to speed cameras, tractors and my appalling sense of direction, I'm already late. Drive up to The House as fast as I dare, negotiating bull and herd of cattle along the way.

10.45am. Arrive in servants hall, where my new colleagues are in the middle of their daily team-talk from KL's collections manager, Kate Warren.

They are all brightly dressed, very friendly and seem raring to go.

Kate uses this time to check that every one of the 22 people she needs to run the house are here. KL has 150 stewards, but always needs more. "Ideally we like them to commit to one day a fortnight but more, or less, is fine, too."

Juggling the rota for all this is done by volunteer David, and his wife, Martine, who fly around the place, conversing on their walkie-talkies. Mobile phones are not allowed.

Stewards don't need a uniform: "Just dress smartly, no jeans or trainers," but they do wear badges, and Kate hands me mine.

Then it's off to the servants' kitchen, for tea and a ginger snap. "People are always bringing in biscuits or delicious things they've baked themselves," says Kate.

She briefs me on my new role. I'll be on tea-relief with former civil servant, Jenny. This means we'll be minding several rooms, while other stewards have their break.

Regular tea-breaks are essential, because KL is presented to the public as a home, not a museum, which means stewards must stand whenever there are visitors in their room.

And there are visitors in each room virtually 100 per cent of the time.

Trust stewards are all volunteers and unpaid but, says Kate, there are some great perks, not the least of which must be working in such a magnificent building.

"When you've done 50 hours stewarding you get a card which entitles you to 20 per cent off in National Trust shops, and free entry to Trust property," says Kate. "If you are already an NT member you can use the card to take along a friend."

The Trust also pays travelling expenses and allows stewards to buy lunchtime sandwiches for just £1. There's also a Christmas party, a summer barbecue, and outings to other National Trust properties.

"It's very sociable: people look out for each other here," says Kate. "If you don't turn up, people will worry, and ring to make sure you are OK. We also get people who've been bereaved, joining us simply to get out and make new friends."

And they do. Many of the stewards socialise away from KL and: "We've had at least one romance which led to marriage!"

Anyone who can cope with the standing and the amount of stairs at KL can become a steward. It's not just for retired colonels; "Although retired colonels are very welcome."

Most of the stewards I meet are retired civil servants, bank workers like David, or ex-teachers, like Clare.

All the while Kate is chatting to me, stewards are flying in and out of the servants' kitchen; going to Spain (The leather-walled Spanish room) and Egypt (the collection of Egyptology).

Kate explains that potential stewards are interviewed, and sent on a training day to learn how to cope with emergencies; such as fire, illness, or security breaches, and mundane stuff, like lost children.

Each room has a black book of information relating to its particular treasures, but the same old questions crop up again and again.

"'Do the family still live here?', is the main one," says Jenny.

Stewards must answer questions, keep an eye out for criminal misbehaviour and prevent, wherever possible, visitors from touching.

"We do recognise how much people want to touch things, it's a natural human response," acknowledges Kate. "But it's very hard to get across to some people that their one little touch can help destroy something very valuable, because the oil on our skin contains acid that eats things away." She cites one example of a tiny plaster snail, which was worn away by errant fingers.

Visitors must also be restrained from taking photos; mainly because one flash can do the damage of 1,000 sun hours. Sun damage is an obsession at KL, and there are instructions galore on raising and lowering the blinds.

My head's spinning, but I haven't got time to be nervous because it's time for me to go 'on-stage'. David orders Jenny and I to the Dining Room. Does it ever feel like Cluedo? I ask him. "It's exactly like Cluedo," he smiles.

11.45am: So, It's Miss Eckersall, (and Jenny) in the Dining Room, with the candlestick and the lead piping. Well, the candlestick, anyway.

We take up position in the corner, just in front of what Jenny and her fellow stewards believe is the Trust's most valuable painting, the unfinished Judgement of Solomon by Sebastiano del Piombo. I plonk my notebook on the giraffe skin chair, earning a ticking off from Kate, and we get ready to greet our first visitors.

While I grin inanely, and hope no one asks me a question, Jenny works the room. Bang on cue, an elderly lady inquires: "Do the family still live here?"

"No," Jenny replies, telling her about the nature of the Bankes' bequest; basically that Mr Ralf Bankes willed his entire estate to the Trust.

12.15pm: Job done, we ascend to the pretty, South East Bedroom. Stewards are supposed to walk their patch, so, I nip into the adjoining dressing room to make sure the visitors aren't making off with the valuables, while Jenny gives intelligent answers to questions. I'm already feeling quite tired but, after the giraffe skin chair incident, feel it is not a good idea to slump against the wall. As we leave the room, Jenny spots an elderly lady resting on a portable stool. Is she all right? Yes, just hot and a bit tired.

12.45pm: Up we go again, to the tented rooms, and the schoolroom on the upper landing, where a fan wafts a welcome breeze at the top of the stairs, and I manage to give sensible answers to visitors' questions. Yess!

Flicking through the Black Book, I notice an instruction stating that the plant that was strategically placed to hide the choice bits in Goltzius' circumcision of Christ painting, has now been re-located to the side. And is NOT to be moved back. Jenny can answer any awkward questions about that, I decide.

1.15pm: Lunchtime. Hurrah! My legs are killing me, but Jenny looks as fresh as a daisy. We join Clare, George, David and Betty in the servants' kitchen, where no one is put off their sandwiches by the lurid poster describing the various exhibit-munching insects and parasites, stewards are exhorted to look out for.

The stewards tell me about their funniest experiences. "One little boy, when asked what one of the Latin inscriptions was, said 'Don't Touch'," says Betty.

Another child was found to have collected all the freestanding 'Please don't Touch' signs, which had to be returned by his embarrassed mum. "He had 25," remembers Clare.

1.45pm: Martine, wife of David, collects me to join her on her round. We visit each room, chatting to stewards, making sure everything is OK.

We make our way past the loggia and into the library where more than 2,000 books are cleaned by Martine, every three years. We step into the drawing room, where lilies scent the air, and where the interest of child visitors is maintained, by encouraging them to look out for two blue china cats.

In the dining room we admire the chandelier, which, explains Martine, is cleaned by hand, although not by the Only Fools and Horses method. Then it's into the Spanish Room. Like her fellow stewards, Martine is in love with all things KL, and points out Velazquez's Cardinal Camillo Massimi, lurking, out of the sunshine, by the door.

"It was loaned out and when it came back, Kate showed it to us in the daylight," she says. "The blue in the man's coat! It was so, so beautiful."

Upstairs, Martine shows me the cover on the White Room bed, made from bridal veils and delicate as a butterfly's wing. Then we make our way to the upper landing, where she points out the portraits of a dour-faced couple, who were supposed to be married. "By the look of them I don't think they had a very good sex life!"

2.45pm: The Entrance Hall. Promotion at last! I'm the meet and greet lady, and my job is to take the tickets, or examine visitors' Trust cards, and press the clicker to count how many have come in.

Another requirement of the job is to check ladies' shoe heels. If they are small enough to fit into the testing board (a block of wood with a half-inch square cut out), they can't be worn because they'll damage the floors.

Everyone remembers when one steward got a visitor's shoe stuck in the board, and then had trouble prising it out. Hope this doesn't happen to me.

Feeling like Audrey in To The Manner Born, I advance regally on my first visitors. They surrender their tickets without a fight and I click them all in, forgetting to ask if they'd like to buy a guide book. Every 15 minutes we must record the numbers. Five hundred a day is average but, on Bank Holidays, they have had over 1,000.

3.15pm: It's time for me to leave. But my new colleagues will be working on for at least another hour. I'm knackered but they look as though they could go on all night. It must be the friendship, or the magic of Kingston Lacy. Or maybe it's something they put in the biscuits...

If you'd like to chat about becoming an NT steward, please call Kate Warren on 01202 883402.