The National Trust is spoiling beautiful places in the name of people who’ll never visit them

Broadhaven Beach in Pembrokeshire was once a sublime combination of the works of nature and man. The broad, deep, sandy bay is flanked by towering limestone cliffs. Two hundred years ago, a stream leading to the sea was dammed by Lord Cawdor, the then owner, to form the Bosherston Lily Ponds.

Enter the National Trust, owners of the estate since 1976. Now the spot where the lakes meet the sea is marked with a bright purple National Trust sign, saying,

Return to the start,
a new path you’ll take
Its rocky in places,
don’t fall in the lake.

Perhaps it’s better in the Welsh translation, also featured on the purple sign. Dear God, I hope it’s more literate.

The sign sums up all that’s terrible about the National Trust — and our libraries, museums and galleries. They are being infantilised by the zealous crusade to make them accessible to people who don’t want to go there.

There are more than four million National Trust members: by far the biggest institution of its kind in the world. It dwarfs the membership of all our political parties put together. In other words, the British already know about the National Trust. They don’t need to be told how wonderful it is; to be spoon-fed its beauties like a baby; or to be warned not to fall in a lake.

They already love the trust’s exceptional houses and landscapes. But those landscapes are now scarred by pointless signs like the Broadhaven horror. And the trust does its best to play down its country houses — Britain’s greatest artistic contribution to the world.

In that famous 1988 advert, the Victoria & Albert museum described itself as ‘an ace caff with quite a nice museum attached’. At least it admitted to the museum.