He is part of our large, all-encompassing Irish-ish family. Arthur Edward Rory Guinness, Ned to those who know him, Lord Iveagh to those who have regard for such titles, was born and grew up in Dublin, and though his adult life has been in England, his family history and legacy is entwined with Ireland. His Irishness is important to him.
I arrive at his new Dublin home, appropriately in the Liberties, and he makes us tea, with teabags in mugs. Then he adds milk to the tea, not into the mug beforehand.
Ned Guinness’s great-great-grandfather was Edward Cecil Guinness, head of the eponymous brewery (founded by his great-grandfather Arthur), whose philanthropic mark is indelible in Dublin, from the Iveagh Trust to St Patrick’s Park. Edward Cecil was made first Earl of Iveagh in 1919, in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. Ned, the fourth earl, has been prominent in trying to resolve the long-running debacle over Dublin’s Iveagh Markets.
He lives in a village house at the family’s 22,486-acre Elveden Estate in Suffolk, England, the hall of which has hosted dramas from The Crown to Eyes Wide Shut. His new Dublin base is a lovely house, though somewhat unexpected for a lord: a typical artisan’s terraced two-up, two-down on a Dublin 8 street. The front door opens into the sittingroom, broken through into the kitchen. Pictures on the yellow walls include great-grandfather Rupert (Edward Cecil’s son), and a small Rose Barton Clanbrassil Street scene.
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Guinness is quiet-spoken with a soft English accent. He’s likable, gentle, courteous and thoughtful. He is open, occasionally vague, and his conversation is punctuated by laughter. Aware of his privilege, he seems conscious of using it for wider good. His wish to acknowledge various perspectives, about, say, his background, or the markets tangle, leads to charming, sometimes convoluted sentences, and he has an almost courtly turn of phrase; “please heavens”.
Guinness’s (sole) passport is Irish. Through university and adult life he has been based in Britain “but always with Irish things going on. Farmleigh until I was 30. The farm outside Ashbourne, that was always in my life. The Iveagh Trust [providing affordable housing]. I’ve been a trustee for a good period. It’s a powerhouse. And seeing what’s going on with Diageo and the Guinness brand.”
He’s in Ireland frequently, has “an ambition to spend more time. I love it here.” Stansted is “easy” from Suffolk. He sold Farmleigh to the State in 1999 for €29.2 million, and hasn’t had a home here for years; this Liberties house is part of “another orientation”.
Both his sons, Arthur (21) and Rupert (18), were brought up in Suffolk “but I’ve been very keen to ensure they have ... We support Irish rugby, the lot of us. The Department of Foreign Affairs kindly hosted us to look ‘round Iveagh House” on Stephen’s Green, once Edward Cecil’s home and now the department’s headquarters. Both sons represented Ireland in downhill skiing. “The Irish team is terrific. They’ve waved the tricolour. I’m very proud of my international sons representing their country.”
We had met previously, at a screening of Sé Merry Doyle’s Alive Alive O documentary about Dublin street traders, and Guinness was greeted warmly at every turn, a champion of reviving Iveagh Markets.
Built by Edward Cecil Guinness by 1906, and gifted to the city, the gracious Edwardian indoor markets complex has been vacant and decaying since closing in 1997. It’s the subject of a long-running legal battle between Dublin City Council (DCC), Ned Guinness and hotelier Martin Keane, to whom the council sold a long lease for the markets it was custodian of, in 1997, but who has not developed them (as hotel, restaurant, market) despite securing planning permission in 2007 and 2012.
More recently a deadlock developed, where the rights, obligations and potential of Iveagh Markets were lost in legal battles and unresolved High Court mediation, while the historic buildings, neglected and decaying, were more at risk with every winter. Concern about the structure’s fragility, and dismay at the ongoing legal battle, grew among city councillors, local campaigners and the wider public, particularly after part of the roof collapsed.
[ The Iveagh Markets: Can a former Dublin glory be saved?Opens in new window ]
The slow beginning of the end of this sorry saga may be in sight. Last September, the Government announced €9 million funding to halt the markets’ decline. This is just to secure the crumbling structure; renovation will cost vastly more. Another winter has since passed, with tenders, clearing and surveying. Last month the Department of Housing confirmed repairs alone may not be complete until 2026.
In the meantime the legal bill for the losing party could be €1.2 million, the court was told. In late 2023, Mr Justice Michael Twomey in the High Court said the dispute’s key issue is who owns the title (Keane or Guinness, or the council) and ruled a modular trial (likely this summer) would clarify “all aspects of title relevant to the case”.
Things are happening, but at a glacial pace. The futility and waste of the legal battle, the desecration of a fine city resource, are dispiriting. But spending time in Ned Guinness’s unrelentingly positive company dispels some of that. The legal decision on ownership “will complete this process, please God, this year. Hopefully it happens, sooner for us all and for the future of the markets”. Later: “The buildings are heritage structures that are protected. One would hope that legislation will be enforced and properly policed. It will be. It must be. I’m taking it that the injection of [State] funds is an expression of intent. It’s exceptionally welcome.”
“So much falls in place when title is resolved, alongside the works for the restoration of the buildings. Truthfully, we’ll come a long way this year. The commitment that’s been made public, it’s going to shift lots. Sad that we can’t make more progress quicker, less expensively, but by God, there’s going to be a lot of change in 2024, for the better. To walk past that place and not see the weeds inside, the trees growing up on the rafters. Oh, Christ, I mean, tragedy of it all. Anyway. It’s moving on. Frustratingly slow, but we are moving it forward, and it’s going to be amazing.”
It would be unethical if I was making money from it from a perspective of commerce. I can only be here as a facilitator
— Ned Guinness
What Guinness wants is for the stalemate to be resolved, for public consultation on what people want for the markets, building restoration in a part of the city being reborn, and for it to have a continuing public, social purpose “that evolves through time to reflect the circumstances of tomorrow. Public sector, private sector, this model, that model? As long as it’s viable, hallelujah.” And, “hopefully, I do aim to play a role in the rejuvenation of that fabulous set of buildings”.
He’s pleased the State and DCC have “taken such strong leadership”, and “politicians of all persuasions are backing Iveagh Markets”. The market is “in a desperate state. It probably wasn’t in particularly good condition when the market closed, but practically 30 years of disuse. Thank heavens they were built with love and care and the best quality, and most amazing skills. I’m trying not to be negative, but the history of use, or in this case, non-use, and non-intervention. How many storms have those roofs weathered? It’s a miracle that it’s stood like it has.”
He’s rightly wary of talking about title while it’s with the court, but makes the point: “How I see it is, all right-minded persons, Mr Keane, DCC, myself, must surely be in a position to coalesce or act in party, and we shouldn’t actually need to have the court determine a position”, as all “would be saying exactly the same things, which is these buildings need TLC, how do we get them back into public use and public enjoyment and social purpose.”
But – the three parties do not agree. He corrects me: “Have not to date.”
It’s reminiscent of a high-wire: don’t put a hex on it; don’t look down; don’t lose faith. “I have to be hopeful. I don’t live with no hope. Actually, yes, it’s complex, because it involves old law, blah, blah, blah” But it comes down to “that beautiful site, so badly need of resuscitation, and a return to social purpose”.
The complex is large, including a dry market, wet market, two superintendents’ houses, disinfectant lands (a big, swampy hole in the ground where a laundry was demolished) and significant outside space. The site could accommodate multiple uses, including a market.
He wants their future based on “a really proper public consultation”. He points out as the State is financing protecting the buildings, it’s up to the people and custodians of public money to determine the future of Edward Cecil’s gift to the city of Dublin. It could be wholly publicly managed, or could partner with the private sector. “Private sector brings, obviously, opportunity. But it also brings threats. The heritage legislation that applies to the beautiful buildings will secure and protect the beautiful structures.”
Guinness has no skin in the game for profit. “It would be unethical if I was making money from it from a perspective of commerce. I can only be here as a facilitator. I’m not going to develop the markets. It is only going to be the Government or a developer. It’s not my decision. I can be hopefully an enabler, and certainly a supporter, of decisions. I know there is private-sector interest. That’s reassuring. Obviously, it all needs to be above board and properly transparent.
“I know of other entities, people and institutions, sources of intellectual and economic resource, that would be credible, who are quite interested in the site. That comes down the road. There is considerable taxpayers’ money involved, and it needs to be totally seen as the right process. Or if DCC wants to run the site, like they did for decades, could be perfect. Quite patently, a derelict site, doing nothing but going backwards, is not a viable option. We’re coming to the end of that.”
After any future renovation, sustainability is key for Iveagh Markets’ social purpose: “It needs to run and run. It’s got to survive each and every one of us.”
He and hotelier Martin Keane, who won the tender to develop the markets and is one party locked in legal dispute, get on civilly, he says. “He put in a great deal into the site from the perspective of planning. He applied, and successfully obtained, two planning permissions. That was a labour of love. Nothing transpired, regrettably. I can’t speak for him. But the site needs to move on, that’s the only thing that matters. I am absolutely agnostic as to who does what. For God’s sake, get on with it.” He says this mild-manneredly, then laughs.
“I have a suspicion the council are really keen now to embrace change. I think senior management at DCC will be afforded ultimately to say, it was us who solved this multiple decades-long debacle. I’d hope we can all label ourselves with, hopefully, the success ultimately. Looking back and saying, Why the devil did it take so long and why did we put ourselves through this convoluted process?
“It’s going to happen. I think there’ll be a great deal of pride and a great deal of support. Get those buildings back to social purpose. It’s been a thorn in the side. It’s going to turn into a jewel in the crown.”
His long involvement has cost him time and energy, and lots of lawyer-money. While the Iveagh Markets are priceless culturally, socially and historically, they will now cost so much to restore that, the judge observed, the markets’ monetary value may be nil or indeed a negative, adding that spending €1.2 million on legal costs (plus wasted management time) “does raise questions for all the parties involved”.
Guinness is well aware of this. “What a shame that resources were not put into bricks and mortar, and right-minded support for the site. What are we doing with all this?”
Why has he stuck with it? “Well, my family hasn’t gone away. I feel and will always feel strongly of my heritage. Four generations back and this great gift. You could say I’m very distant from that heritage. But actually, I feel I’ve spent my life dealing with the complexities arising from four generations back.
“I’m not complaining, I’m a hugely privileged person, but [with] the perspective of circumstances that are in some ways unique. Therefore either I ignore it or I engage with it. I felt in a funny way I need to engage with certain things, because otherwise, what am I doing in my priorities, personally? So, to engage was my choice.” He bursts out laughing, which punctures the solemnity, but doesn’t undercut it. “Rightly or wrongly.”
Truthfully, really, does it matter? To be the son of, you know, an inherited title. I mean, it’s meaningless. I’m very proud of the history, but that’s a private thing.
— Ned Guinness
Ned Guinness was born to his mother Miranda (previously Smiley) on the first floor of Farmleigh. During childhood there “we had a lovely time”. From age 13 he boarded at Marlborough College in England; his parents had divorced so holidays were shared, “because mother was elsewhere and father was based at Farmleigh. She went out with Tony Ryan for seven years. The aviation entrepreneur. He was partially based in Tipperary.”
His parents remained close after divorce, and “we were shielded as children. It was not really anything to take sides or be bitter about. It was just the new reality of our time. All power to my parents, they did well. They never caused any trouble to one another. My mum, she nursed my father. When he was dying he moved into her house and she nursed him, in his end stages.”
His father Benjamin died in 1992, aged 55. Ned was 22, still at college (business at University College London, then agricultural land management at Royal Agricultural University). He became the fourth Earl of Iveagh, inheriting the earldom, considerable wealth including property and a stake in Diageo, and responsibilities. He has added to the wealth: in the 2023 Sunday Times Rich List the Earl of Iveagh and Guinness family was valued at £983 million (€1.1 billion).
Because his father “died in his mid-50s, he didn’t really plan for his ill-health and departure”. The difficulties were “more than just losing my dad who I was close to. It brought on repercussions which were in themselves challenging. But, you know, you have to deal what’s dealt you and make the most of it. There’s the good and the bad. I’m blessed with privilege, for God’s sake, lots of choices that other people never had.”
Ned was the third of four children, with two older sisters not in line for a title. Their father was “very protective of the four of us to find our way ourselves, rather than have some preordained mission. He was a very gentle man, very kind, a very good man. He was always deeply supportive of Dublin. He fought for the continuance of intellectual HQ for Guinness in Dublin. You know, Guinness as Irish.”
Unearned hereditary titles can seem anachronistic, for those of us living in a modern parliamentary democracy. What does being a lord mean? “At this time, it doesn’t mean very much. Okay, one of us did things [historically] and got acknowledged and it passes down technically. But it doesn’t do anything useful. It’s just an extraordinary quirk of ... A wonderful thing, but it’s all historical.
“Truthfully, really, does it matter? To be the son of, you know, an inherited title. I mean, it’s meaningless. I’m very proud of the history, but that’s a private thing. It was meaningful, when I sat as an active cross-bench Independent in the [House of] Lords. I wasn’t there for money or career. Paradoxically I was there because I could afford it. What a privilege. I could freewheel my own thinking and make my presence felt as an independent in a tiny little way.” In 1999 “I was kicked out when they made the decision to ditch hereditaries.”
He marvels at sitting in Britain’s Lords “as an exclusively Irish citizen. I was so privileged to sit in a foreign parliament and be able to tweak legislation. These islands have had, and continue to have, please God will have for a long time to come, a very special, deep, meaningful, incredibly partnership-based relationship.”
His own politics are “a bit all over the place”. He says he has voted for “all of the political parties you could care to name in the UK”, including the late self-styled Screaming Lord Sutch of the Monster Raving Loony Party (“I didn’t want him to lose his deposit”).
The earldom is based on family connections “prehistorically” in Co Down. “We weren’t planters. We were indigenous folk from that part of the world. The Lords originally were around the king to support him. But we were industrialists from the island of Ireland. We weren’t landed. People can get the wrong idea. You’re a lord, some ghastly landed thing that...” he laughs. “Irish history isn’t pretty!”
What does he make of hereditary titles or monarchy? “I think if a nation has a fabric, which works, whether it’s by heredity or by election, that’s a strong, hopefully, fabric of constitution. We have the capacity to thrive in stable times. So I suppose, let the British have their system. The Irish Constitution and the Irish Republic are well-formed and very well-established, thank heavens. No form of constitution is perfect. I just live and let live, please God. The Constitution gives us, as free spirits, choices and freedoms. I feel incredibly blessed to be an Irish citizen. Especially in Brexit Britain. I can’t understand the merit of Brexit Britain, in all honesty.”
His inherited responsibilities included Elveden. “The business in Suffolk employs a good few people and I was involved in running a family office in London, and various things titularly” stemming from Edward Cecil’s philanthropy, Ireland’s Iveagh Trust and the Guinness Trust in the UK, the Iveagh Markets, a Lister Institute of Preventive Medicine endowment and Chadacre agricultural charity. He’s now “decreasingly involved” in the Elveden business.
He moved to Elevden “upon marriage” to Clare Hazell, an interior designer. They are now divorced. He has someone else in his life now. “She’s English, but she’s Irish in her way. Life works in a strange way, in a wonderful way in this instance.”
What makes him happy? “I am slightly creative. I like creative things. I think simple things make me happy. I’ve a passion for cooking. I’m not very good cook but I am getting into it. I love the countryside, freedom, space. I love … finding the path. Friends and family.”
His voice goes down a notch. “Nice to be able to, you know, sounds ridiculous, but to help people, in your own way. Being in the position to be a giver. That’s quite a remarkable thing. Or to make a person smile in a day. That’s quite a nice ambition, isn’t it? To make one person smile each day. Bit of humour. And there’ll be plenty of crack in that shell of a building across the way soon. It’s got to be soon.”
