‘We share your eccentric humour’

Under the mournful eye of Edvard Munch, Tore Hattrem, Norwegian Ambassador to the United Kingdom, is distracted by the commotion caused by Kensington’s amorous foxes. “I’m not the only one who’s been woken up in the night when the foxes are trying to find their respective partners,” he says. “It’s fox heaven.”

We’re sitting in the Munch Room of the ambassadorial residence, Amesbury House on Palace Green, the billionaire’s row running alongside Kensington Palace. The artist’s self-portrait peers down from the wall. The house is a symbol of the close ties between Britain and Norway, which are particularly evident every December when the Norwegian Christmas tree — the annual gift from the city of Oslo, a token of thanks for Britain’s support during the second world war — is erected in Trafalgar Square. 

Hattrem is a diplomat straight out of central casting: tall, lean, distinguished but approachable, smart but not flashy, with lightly greying hair. He is keen to stress that the imposing Edwardian red-brick mansion where he has resided since August 2023 with his wife, Marit Gjelten, director for the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, is not his. He is simply its temporary custodian. “This is a tool for the Norwegian government, I’m an instrument. I’m not rich. I’m not Ecclestone. I’m not Mittal,” he says, referring to Tamara Ecclestone (daughter of former Formula One boss Bernie) and the Indian steel tycoon Lakshmi Mittal, who also live on the street.

Does the Scandinavian principle of Janteloven — that no one should consider themself above others — include ambassadors? “Yes, it extends. I play football, I do stuff which is not elite. I come from an ordinary middle-class family. My father was an airline pilot, my mother was a nurse. I was the first in my family ever to take a university education.” 

The upstairs/downstairs twist to the residence is that the ambassador lives in the loft. “Literally an attic,” he says. 

Hattrem’s London posting follows roles in India, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka and the US, where he was Norway’s Ambassador to the United Nations. His time in Sri Lanka, from 2007 to 2010, coincided with the final years of the war between the Sri Lankan Army and the Tamil Tigers, while 2010 to 2012 in Afghanistan saw increased terrorist activities across the country. “Our lives as diplomats were restricted, living in heavily protected buildings, driving in bulletproof cars with bulletproof vests,” he recalls. “Regular terrorist attacks in Kabul made it difficult to move around. I was close to several attacks in my neighbourhood. I sometimes missed my normal and safe life.” 

London provides that. In the past year, he has hosted guests including Penny Mordaunt, Theresa May and David Lammy for networking events and discussions, to “map out common interests”. “There are rarely memorable arguments,” says Hattrem. His life here is not the stuff of a thriller, he says; as characters, “we are simply too boring”. 

“When British guests come, they feel it is in a sense an English home, an English manor, with the wood panelling,” says Hattrem of the residence. “People feel at ease here, from radical cultural workers all the way to conservative politicians.” 

Putting down roots in an itinerant career has become a skill. “After one or two postings, I started to identify where we were posted as our home,” says Hattrem. “To go deep into the society where you are, if you consider it your home you engage more authentically than if you feel that you are a guest.”

Although there isn’t a neighbourly Palace Green WhatsApp group and security is tight, the London residence exudes warmth. It has a “quite exceptional” history, says Hattrem. The house has been in Norwegian service since 1936 and during the second world war was a haven for the Norwegian royal family — who fled the Nazi invasion in 1940 — and a base for the country’s government in exile. “So free Norway was in London, protected by the British people,” says Hattrem. “Historically, that is enormously important for Norway. This building represents that. It is in this building that the King declared Norway liberated in May 1945.”

The site is owned by the Crown Estate and was once the kitchen garden for Kensington Palace. Today it is not only a home for the ambassador and his staff but also a London address for the Norwegian King and Queen, who retain an apartment in the building. 

There is a calmness to the interiors, in part due to a recent refurbishment by MSMR Architects. A palette of muted browns echoes the pine woods of the far north. “It’s an earthy colour,” says Hattrem. “It goes well with Norwegian nature.” Important historical details have been retained: the wartime government’s table is still used for meetings; the original iron stove in the kitchen gleams.

Free Norway was in London, protected by the British people. Historically, that is enormously important for Norway. This building represents that

This month the Norwegian Christmas tree gift tradition marks its 77th anniversary. “It was given as an expression of deep gratitude, friendship and peace. Those were the words we used at the time,” says Hattrem.

Even if it’s mocked? “We share your sense of eccentric humour,” he says, laughing, dismissing Londoners’ habit of critiquing the tree’s slightly dishevelled appearance when it arrives. “The Daily Mail came up with a headline like ‘Are we at war with Norway?’ after one of the trees,” he smiles (it was actually part of an exchange between British journalists on X). As Hattrem notes, it is chopped down in the forest outside Oslo and transported on a regular ferry service. “When it’s been in a horizontal position for almost two weeks, it will be a little bit scruffy.”

There is nothing scruffy about Amesbury House. The artworks and objects on the ground floor come from the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs Collection; masterpieces and curiosities from the 19th century to the present day. The Munch Room displays some of the artist’s most iconic motifs, including “Melancholy” and “Sphinx”, as well as unexpected subjects (a print of Westminster Abbey poses the question of whether the artist ever visited London). “I love Munch,” says Hattrem. “I think that’s the case with many Norwegians.” The residence frequently hosts curators from the Munch museum in Oslo, estimated to have cost NKr2.25bn (around $260mn at the time).

In a large light-filled lemon yellow room, a grand-piano hints at recitals. One of the Christmas receptions featured the Sølvguttene — The Silver Boys — the Norwegian boys’ choir. On the piano lid sits a photograph of Maud of Wales, Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, who in 1896 married King Haakon VII to become Queen of Norway. She looks rather fierce, I observe. “In a good sense,” counters Hattrem. “She’s majestic.” A statue of Maud by the 20th-century sculptor Ada Madssen also stands at the front gate.

The formal dining room at the rear of the house holds two of Hattrem’s favourite pieces: a watercolour of a gloomy family by Vanessa Baird and a huge dish — reminiscent of a ploughed field — by ceramicist Marit Tingleff. “It weighs 32 kilos,” the ambassador declares with pride. 

A tiny wood-lined elevator takes us up to his private apartment, a cosy 100 sq m space in the eaves. The lift requires a secret sequence of buttons to work. “When the reception is over, I take the elevator up and move from being a public man to being a private person in three seconds. Then I throw off my suit and put on my jeans.”  

The main space encompasses a living area, dining room and kitchenette in a more contemporary Nordic style than the grand reception rooms below. Two rug-thrown chaise longues stand parallel to one another where the ambassador and his wife read. A painterly interpretation of video game avatars by Steinar Haga Kristensen hangs on the wall, as does a self-portrait by Håkon Gullvåg, whose portraits of King Harald V and Queen Sonja hang in the entrance hall downstairs.  

The division between public and private includes dining: “The residence’s cook is not for us. We go to a local pub,” he says. “I use the balcony here to store beer.”

Hattrem’s wife arrives as we are leaving. Unwrapping her scarf, she tells me she hasn’t seen the local fox in a while. She misses it. Hattrem nods, adding: “You walk out and it just looks at you, and you have that moment of existential awareness.” Their remarks seem to reflect the essence of Amesbury House: Norwegian hygge, nature and Munch-worthy introspection, all hidden in the heart of Kensington.  

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