Cargill Castle in Dunedin.
Dunedin is justifiable proud of its famous 19th-century citadel but the southern city has more than one castle, writes Michael Lamb
I've always been one for a castle, even the mock ones you find kicking around New Zealand, so when I realised Dunedin's justifiably famous Larnach's Castle has a neglected, overgrown rival, I had to investigate further.
Cargill's Castle languishes on the cliffs behind South Dunedin, brooding and sullen like something out of a Bronte novel. It's technically off-limits, surrounded by a 2.5m high chain link fence and an air of mystery. What is this place? Who built it and why?
Interestingly, like the vines running through the ruins, its story entwines the founding fathers of Dunedin: William Cargill, his son Edward and the infamous William Larnach.
Some wag once described Larnach's Castle, a must-do on any Dunedin itinerary, as "Scots Baronial meets Turkish brothel", which is probably about right. As mock strongholds go it's a good 'un, though in too good a condition for my castle tastes.
However wandering around the property on a stunning summer's day, it's easy to see why Larnach's gets all the tourist oxygen: the gardens are dreamy, the interior rich and timbered with gaspingly beautiful detailing. It's much related dramatic backstory is epitomised by William Larnach's tragic demise - he shot himself in the head at Parliament in 1898.
Their publicity declares Larnach's to be "New Zealand's Only Castle", but over the other side of town Cargill's Castle begs to differ.
It was built by William Cargill's son, Edward, in the 1870s. William was an energetic Dunedin founding father but also a deeply conservative product of his times. Respected but perhaps not much liked, they apparently named Invercargill after him so the obligatory tribute was as far away as possible.
Commentators say Edward was cut from much the same cloth, but he must have enjoyed a touch more lightness in his soul, some sense of mischief, to have commissioned such a grand folly as Cargill's Castle. And the fact that he and William Larnach were contemporaries and were the two most prominent figures in Dunedin politics at the time, rubbing shoulders on a daily basis, makes you wonder if there was little bit of rivalry in Edward's desire to out-castle William on the real estate chess board.
Originally known as "The Cliffs", Cargill's was constructed between 1875 and 1877 at a cost of around £14,000 and boasted 21 rooms. It was designed by the architect Francis Petre, also known as "Mr Concrete" for his pioneering use of that material.
In a sort of 19th-century Grand Designs subplot, Petre promptly fell in love with Margaret Cargill, Edward's daughter but the union was frustrated by the fact he was a Catholic. One can imagine some Wuthering Heights-like scenes at The Cliffs - probably out on the actual nearby cliffs - as their passions were suppressed by stern father Edward.
But love eventually won the day and in 1881 Margaret and Francis were married. They then lived together contentedly in the castle, which Margaret inherited lock, stock and barrel after Edward passed away in 1903.
Tragedy had already touched the building along the way. It was gutted by a fire in 1892 and took three years to repair. And one of Edward's brother's children is said to have drowned at the nearby Tunnel Beach, though that story remains unconfirmed.
After Francis and Margaret let the castle go, it passed through a number of hands and deteriorated. In the 1930s a bloke called John Hutton opened it as restaurant, dance hall and cabaret and it became a popular watering hole for American servicemen during World War II (William Cargill would not have been amused.) In 1944 an Allied serviceman fell more than 100m to his death from the cliffs near the castle. A girl fell with him but apparently survived.
In 1945 Hutton, who had tried to sell the castle, decided to knock the grog den on the head and convert the castle into a "temple of God". He told a reporter at the time: "One night while I was asleep a voice speaking softly urged me to use the castle as a temple of God and forthwith I followed."
The divinities didn't hang about too long though and in 1949 it was sold at the knockdown price of £2730 to a local builder. The cabaret nights ran again until the late 1950s, but the maintenance faltered, and by the 60s the place was in steady decline and fell into ruin.
A trust was formed in 1997 with big plans to restore Cargill's although progress has been painfully slow, the price tag no doubt growing ever larger.
The trust's website suggests public access could be ready by 2023 but dates have been mooted before and sailed happily by. These days the biggest issue are trespassers and understandably the trust is desperate to keep them at bay lest a lump of Petre's concrete fall on some nosey parker's head. (To get a look at Cargill's Castle without upsetting anyone, try heading down Isadore St, just up from St Clair Beach, and you'll eventually see the ruins.)
Heritage New Zealand describes Cargill's Castle as "a prominent example of a 'gentlemen's residence'; a style and scale of building which look(s) back to British precedents of landed gentry with substantial houses and grounds. Its subsequent history of use also represents ... a fate of decay and decline reflective of Dunedin's fortunes".
Ouch. And also an out-of-date view. Dunedin is on the way up and the fact the place is groaning with wonderful heritage buildings is a big part of the charm.
On the drive back along the Otago Peninsula from our Larnach visit we found another part of the Larnach/Cargill backstory: a seemingly abandoned white Italianate villa, gardens overgrown, door sashed by a sturdy chain, sitting forlornly by the main road.
It's called, colloquially, the White House and was built by William Larnach to reside in while his main baronial pile up the road was under construction.
William originally called it the "Dandie Dinmont" after his favourite breed of Scottish terrier and it was supposed to become a hotel but was never licensed. It passed into the hands of another family and became known around town for its jazz-age opulence. But it was all downhill from there and by from the middle of last century, the villa was in steady decline - somewhere along the line it even lost its turret.
A woman called Isobel, who lives in very unromantic Perth, acquired the building in 1969. She spoke of a dream to turn it into an artists' community. Despite periods of work, especially a big push 10 years ago to fix the roof and windows, that aspiration has never materialised and Isobel has rebuffed all suitors wishing to take it off her hands. Take a look at it for yourself when you drive along Portobello Rd (the one that takes you out to Larnach and beyond that to the albatrosses) - you can't miss it.
It's another intriguing link on Dunedin's touring circuit of historic houses and fabled characters. But for faded romance and crumbly ruination, the story of Cargill's Castle, sitting cold and alone on those South Dunedin cliffs, is hard to beat.
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