Problem is, who's to decide what's junk and what ain't? So the Trust, with the help of armies of volunteers is going through all this stuff, cataloguing, photographing and preserving.

It being just down the road, we look in on the place from time to time to see how it's all progressing. Fascinating place, well worth a visit, and with miles and miles of estate to wander as well.

But sometimes you have to wonder ... Last Wednesday we were chatting to one of the volunteers, a very pleasant lady who was sat at a table in the drawing room. Laid out very carefully in front of her were dozens of bits of cut glass. The chandeliers, she explained, were being taken down for maintenance. So with the utmost precision and care, plus cotton buds, cotton wool and soapy water, she was cleaning each individual piece and then laying them out, fastidiously to dry.

One hundred years ago, this was the sort of thing that the working-class servants, sure of their lowly place in the order of things, would have done in return for bed, board, a small wage and a half-day off a week. Now it's being done by middle-class volunteers for fun.

So ... A glorious vindication of the civilised nature of British society, which not only cares about cleaning the fixtures and fittings of a former landed aristocracy (which has not disappeared, by the way) but which also affords a goodly proportion of its citizens the leisure time to service and preserve a part of our heritage? Or an exercise in futility?

Like most NT houses, each room has a friendly and knowledgeable volunteer on hand. The guy telling us about the high-camp chapel - the Gibbses were as High Anglican as you can get without actually performing quirkafleegs for the Pope - was particularly articulate and amusing.

They can tell you about the family, the furniture, the paintings, the astonishing craftsmanship ... But precious little about the historical context, the bigger picture of aristocracy, servants, the place of great houses in the local society and not a lot about the Gibbs family's smells 'n' bells religion and true blue Tory politics.

At the moment, the Trust is part of a campaign called History Matters, which is intended to get us all caring more about where we come from, but actually you get precious litttle of the bigger picture at places like Tyntesfield. The NT is bogged down in the grinding detail of fundraising, cataloguing, organising, running the gift-shop (was there ever a more pointless, no-brainer of a gift than fudge?) and simply administering. To be fair, Tyntesfield is run on more enterprising lines, working hard to draw in the local community and schools and maybe most visitors would rather hear about all the work that went into carving the wainscotting but it's always noticeable that whenever you visit any stately home, the bit that most people dwell in longest are the kitchens and servants' quarters.

We don't fantasise about being the Lord of the manor so much as acknowledge that in reality we'd be the skivvies, and you only occasionally get insights into this. I was at one Trust place not too long ago where we were told that the windows in the working areas are set high into the walls. High enough to admit light, but too high to see out of - otherwise the servants might spend their time looking out rather than working.

To my shame I can't remember where this was, as I was probably high on fudge at the time. It might have been Castle Drogo which is about as totalitarian a bit of architecture as you can get. Edward Lutyens, and all.

Meanwhile, back at the chandeliers ... People of goodwill, admirers of beauty and art give their time freely to nice the place up and derive great pleasure from doing so. Perhaps that's enuff. Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux.