The Credentials:
A couple of hours’ drive from London, Thornbury Castle is the only Tudor castle to open as a hotel. Part of the prestigious Von Essen collection, it boasts historic parkland, a vineyard, privy gardens and helipad. Henry VIII once flirted with Anne Boleyn within its ancient walls, and secret panels and tales of hauntings are rife.
Dine:
The dinner menu was fantastic. We feasted on roast breast of quail and braised leg with pickled vegetables, game froth and pancetta, followed by a selection of aged beef; fillet, featherblade and bone marrow. I rounded off the meal with baked pumpkin cheesecake, and an off-menu order of sorbet for The Actor. The waiter expertly matched our wines to each course, and we were not disappointed.
There are two oak-panelled dining rooms serving a selection of game heavy cuisine. There is also a mezzanine gallery with a large single table overlooking the main dining hall. Lit with candelabras and surrounded by tapestries, Henry VIII’s table of choice failed to disappoint. It was remarkably easy to imagine oneself casually sentencing an uncooperative servant while feasting on copious quantities of ale, boar’s head and roast peacock.
Sleep:
The Tower Room is the piece d’resistance. The penthouse of the tower, we had views across untouched parkland, of doves, steeples and spires. Plans for a roof terrace had been started and abandoned. In my opinion unwisely, given the Tower Room is 77 spiral stairs up, and an awfully long way down to pop for a cigarette.
Our room boasted the largest bed in Britain, but at 10 feet wide it rather dominated the room, and the brightly painted four-poster frame gave it a little girl princess feel. At the foot of the bed a tv rose out of a painted wooden box, rendering the second wall-mounted tv above the fireplace redundant. There was also a third smaller tv mounted in the bathroom, but the angle felt contrived and uncomfortable to watch from the bath. These superfluous modernities felt like an afterthought at odds with period features, tales of hauntings and silk wall hangings.
The bathroom was massive. A freestanding bath allowed marvellous views as far as the eye could see – I loved knowing the view hadn’t changed in 500 years. There is a wet room-style shower at one end and an armchair, fireplace, wardrobe and double basins. Despite running out of hot water when the shower and bath were used together, the bathroom remained my favourite part of the suite.
Unfortunately the room was stocked with fairly budget toiletries. Each suite comes with a complementary carafe of sherry, although for the price I might expect champagne. The room felt tranquil and restful, but the hotel frowns on late checkouts or other such frivolities.
Who Goes There?
Alongside Henry and Anne, several other minor royals. The castle is regularly used for weddings. The incredible architecture makes it a perfect backdrop for parties, with some guests just hiring the grounds for photo shoots. The castle is ideal for fans of The Tudors and we hear it’s also a hit with Japanese tourists.
Out & About:
Without a pool or spa and with even basic activities such as croquet needing to be booked in advance, we set off exploring. The spires of St Mary’s immediately overlook the castle. Always open for reflection and sanctuary, St Mary’s is the archetypal parish church.
With traditional red phone boxes and sheep grazing the village square, Thornbury village is a postcard-perfect image of bucolic serenity. Behind the castle in the other direction lay acres of historic parkland, including ruins and an empty moat.
The immediate surroundings are very, very pretty, but stray further afield and pastoral charm descends into pedestrian mediocrity. Bumpkin youths roam the streets, and discount stores, second-rate pubs and a late night chippy-cum-Chinese reign supreme.
The Best Thing:
The library and drawing rooms were impeccably curated. Distressed armchairs, settles and Knole sofas are complemented by oak panelling, oil paintings and grand fireplaces. The food was fantastic and the kitchen staff exemplary. The Actor’s dairy allergy was seamlessly accommodated, and champagne breakfast in our suite was divine.
The Worst Thing:
Our room was filled with flies, both dead and alive (we blew at least 30 off the windowsill). Their abundance may, in turn, explain the gargantuan spider we found in the bathroom.
The service wasn’t great. After exploring the locale, we’d called ahead and asked for the fire in our room to be lit. When the maid finally did show a couple of hours later, she was so startled when The Actor emerged from the bathroom, she left another rooms’ full rubbish bag on our chair.
There was an austere, distinctly stoic feel; a tangible sense of imposing in a very house-proud home. Brian, the GM, and the brisk reception staff seemed above such trivialities as their guests. Our bathroom fireplace was ‘out of order’ and no one explained how to turn the underfloor heating on. Minor requests for glasses, or say, enough hot water, were met with beleaguered expressions.
Despite the fantastic food and unreal surroundings, there was something reminiscent of boarding school; staff as houseparents and guests as wayward adolescents in need of a firm hand.
