About the Joseph Nickerson Gallery
The Gallery was conceived by JN in the early 1980’s as a personal collection but he did not envisage it going beyond family and friends. He tasked one of his secretaries, Christine Steward (nee Denny) who was employed from 1971-1983, with setting it up at The Villa where it remains today, she had compiled the diaries and shooting records etc. JN approved her idea of having themed rooms, for example for family history, farming activities, and his hunting and shooting interests and this format has been maintained.
Brian Dummer, who was Executive Aide to the Chairman (JN) from 1981 hired Patricia Kerr who was employed part time from 1983 specifically to continue with the creation of the Gallery. They continued the work after JN’s death including the public opening of the gallery from 1991 until around 1998. Brian had officially retired from 1993 but he also continued to assist Lady Nickerson up to the present day.
This coincided with Paddy Shillington’s retirement from The Nickerson Group in 1998. He had held several roles within the group from 1972-1998, initially as Personal Assistant to JN although his main role was Public Relations Manager including the organisation of the Nickerson stand at the Royal Show. Paddy looked after the gallery and public viewings until March 2022 and some of his recollections are captured on video which can be viewed from the website.
JN’s grand-daughter Clara Baltesz gained an MA in Museum Studies from Newcastle University in 2019. During the Covid pandemic in 2020 she catalogued the collection using ‘Modes’ specialist software. This provided the digitised data forming the basis of the website.
There are two publications providing further insight into the late Sir Joseph Nickerson:
Roots in the Soils
A Shooting Mans’ Creed
On 28th March 1991 Peter Chapman for the Grimsby Evening Telegraph wrote:
Tribute to a special man
A special man’s life is revealed to the public on April 1. In deference to his wishes – and a year after his death – the Joseph Nickerson Memorial Gallery has been completed, occupying the entire first floor of his empire’s headquarters, the Villa at Rothwell, on view, for us all to see, six times a year. It is an extraordinary experience … to match its subject. The instigator temporal of this essentially spiritual labour of love is Sir Joseph’s erstwhile personal assistant Brian Dummer who has not been unduly exercised in his quest for ‘exhibits’. For Sir Joseph was a meticulous man, a great ‘recorder’, a man for the personal account, a man who never threw anything away. From a colossal collection of memorabilia Mr Dummer has assembled a six or seven-room tribute to the hunting, fishing and ski-ing man, the family man, the farming man, the husbandry and environment man, the businessman and, of course, the shooting man.
Myriad ‘exhibits’
In the labyrinthine corridors around his private office, this shrine-like gallery-cum-museum reveals all that is known of the late and much lamented Sir Joseph Nickerson. But will you be able to work out from the myriad ‘exhibits’ how the small boy from Manby came to sit next to the Queen? How actually, did he come to head one of the largest commercial concerns Lincolnshire has ever known? Is there some vital clue or some overall lesson to be learned from this mass of revealing information. Is a secret concealed here that could transform you from obscurity to prominence? Application, dedication, obsession – certainly not single mindedness (for Sir Joseph was a man of many parts) – attention to detail, the inspiration of staff and the zest for living scream from every picture and artefact. I don’t suppose he ever wasted a moment of what years life gave him. Certainly there was always a photographer on hand. Six times annually you will have the chance to gaze and attempt to absorb the life he bequeathes to us. Don’t worry if the answer doesn’t occur to you first time. The dawning could take time. On the other hand don’t ponder too long. JN didn’t. Did he succeed because he was a handsome man? Did he take gambles? Was he concerned whether people liked him or not? Was his success due in part to the excellence of those he employed? That bluff exterior concealed a sharp mind, an ability to focus, a need to enjoy himself, a determination to learn, and excellent staff relationships. Did mention in record books really matter? Was it essential to do better than anyone else? Did he have any regrets? He was four times married, the best shot in the country – maybe the world – and had for company the most famous. It’s all there, hovering at the Villa at Rothwell. I am afraid you will have to sort it out for yourself. Here are the lovely ladies, the super motor cars, the endless presentations, the exotic locations, the stuffed Sailfish and the now silent partridges, the sons in their Harrow boaters, the hunt meets, the grandchildren, Kings and Queens, gamekeepers, Margaret Thatcher in excelsis and assorted lesser luminaries and the guns, the guns, the guns and all pointing skywards. It is entirely astonishing, post mortem, as in life. I have often wondered what life would be like at Rothwell once the great man had passed away.
Headless effigy
Now I know. He is in headless effigy in several of the rooms, dressed variously in shooting kit (including the famous white spats), full hunting kit, fishing kit. Each confrontation is startling. His medals are there (recalling his days as Caistor’s Home Guard Commander), his Royal Appointments, the RDC shields, his shoes, hats, badges, whistles, flasks, fishing rods, boot hooks, waders, shoe-horns . . . everything but his guns which have been sold. The small boy from the sepia age who died in a world of glorious technicolour, would probably be delighted that we remain amazed by his Pilgrimage of Progress. And he would approve of the way that, even now, his wishes are still being carried out at Rothwell.