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“There’s no place like home,” cried Dorothy, desperate to escape the madness of Oz and return to that ever-ephemeral concept—home. Ephemeral because, as Dorothy knew, home means more than just a house, even a flying one. Home is a feeling, a sentiment, even a person.
Home for me has always been about the objects and interiors within my four walls, especially those connected to my family, both alive and those no longer with us. I find intergenerational custodianship of family heirlooms deeply anchoring and reassuring. Their permanence and immortality give me great comfort in a world which so often seems to be spinning way too fast. That’s why, as I sank into an armchair at Hartwell House Hotel & Spa, I found myself agreeing with Dorothy; there really is no place like home.
Now, let me explain. Hartwell is not my home, and I am aware that I do not live in a hotel. I am not Richard Harris or London Tipton. However, my grandmother, Tatiana, did live at Hartwell before it was a hotel. (Her parents, my great-grandparents, sold the house in 1938.)
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Many of the aforementioned treasured pieces from my own home come directly from Hartwell, so I haven’t been completely disillusioned to feel a heightened connection to a space I grew up hearing so much about, and that, had things turned out differently, I might have lived in one day. I had wanted to visit for years, so when I finally managed to find some time after a particularly disastrous and highly stressful month, I packed my bags with a huge smile and a lifetime of stored-up excitement.
The allure of the “English Country House” has always fascinated me. What is it about these storied properties that so captures the imaginations of the millions of people who visit them every year? Is it the result of seemingly endless Hollywood-ised adaptations like Downton Abbey, Bridgerton or even this year’s Wuthering Heights? We watch as these characters swan idly around these beautiful locations, where the only thing they worry about is what time to take tea and whether a handsome Lord might drop by.
There is a slowness to the way of life synonymous with depictions of these homes that so many of us, with our chronically overstimulated minds, crave. As I arrived at Hartwell, after a mere hour’s drive from West London to Buckinghamshire, I was greeted by a majestic swan on the lawn. It was then that I knew why I was really there. I needed a weekend to be like that bird and just swan, which Hartwell facilitated beautifully.
After a seamless check-in, we were shown to our room. Known as the King’s Room, it was named after Louis XVIII of France, who took up residence at Hartwell after fleeing during the French Revolution. As I sank into yet another glorious armchair, I felt like he and I were both looking for the same thing at Hartwell—to keep our heads. Although, admittedly, in my case, it was more figurative. After that, we were left to our highly demanding schedule of walking, high tea, spa treatments, drinks and dinner. The order in which to perform these strenuous tasks caused the only cortisol spike of the entire afternoon.
There is a luxury in not having to think too much, and Hartwell really provides the perfect backdrop for that. I often find that so much time on trips is spent deciding where to go, what to see and where to eat, and we cannot help comparing our trips to those of others. Are we eating in the right spot? Did we order the right thing? Did we see enough, do enough, enjoy ourselves enough?
All too often, I get back from a weekend away only to realise I spent the entire time making decisions and then second-guessing them. Hartwell takes that option away. Afternoon tea is served in the morning room, evening drinks in the drawing room and/or library and dinner is in the dining room. The “where to” decision is made for you, and in a society where we can be so overwhelmed with choice, there is a real luxury in having the ability to choose taken away.
The afternoon tea is truly special. (The scones were quite possibly the best I have ever had!) But what I really loved was the early-evening setup. As you and your fellow guests wait, dressed for dinner, for your table in the dining room, painted in varying shades of heavenly yellow, you can take a seat anywhere in the impressive array of drawing rooms, which are still laid out in the way they would have been in my great-grandparents’ day. By that, I mean like a house, rather than a hotel. That lack of formally allocated seating means that, without stretching your imagination too far, you can sip your drink and imagine yourself as Lord or Lady of this magnificent manor!
The rooms are beautifully considered and decorated with artworks and antiques original to the house, whilst the bedrooms are incredibly comfortable and have everything you could ask for from a hotel room. In fact, many guests call ahead and ask to have the more modern conveniences, like the TV, removed before their arrival. On the other hand, the facilities in a luxury hotel that need to be modern are. The spa is top-notch, with treatments available from 111Skin, and there’s also a fantastic pool in what used to be my granny’s stables! And then there are the grounds, which are an activity in themselves. Originally landscaped by Capability Brown, they maintain that Englishness that makes our gardens so special. The staff are on hand in a noninvasive but deeply helpful way.
Like all great country houses, Hartwell is its own little world. But if you fancy venturing out to explore the surrounding areas, there is a lot to do. Picturesque Waddesdon and the legendary Waddesdon Manor are a short drive away, and there are plenty of glorious scenic stop-offs and traditional pubs along the way. Personally, though, I recommend ditching any concept of an itinerary. Pack a book or two and curl up in front of one of the fireplaces, enjoy the spa, and in the evening, slip into something elegant and join your fellow guests for dinner.
English literature is full of references to this kind of “house party”, where glamorous guests floated from beautiful house to beautiful house, enjoying each other’s company and hospitality. Hartwell captures that essence beautifully, and you leave your stay swaddled in that oh-so rare feeling of being truly rested and relaxed. In a time when people are constantly demanding newness and brands are falling over themselves to keep up, hotels like Hartwell really stand apart. Places like this are proud to offer the opposite of newness. Staying there feels like stepping into that past so many of us so badly crave.
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