Steeped in Tudor swagger, topiary theatrics and indulgence fit for a king, Great Fosters proves an irresistible weekend escape. It would seem fitting that Royal historian Alex Larman checks in — and happily surrenders to its charms…
Great Fosters, a five-star spot in Surrey, is the sort of place Henry VIII would have booked for a dirty weekend if Airbnb had existed in 1530 (and, admittedly, he hadn’t felt the need to simply marry, then behead, his unfortunate women rather than merely whisk them away for a weekend.) This Elizabethan mansion, dating back to around 1550 but subsequently extended, may be tucked ten minutes from the Heathrow roar yet is somehow still scented with wood-smoke and gossip that it feels like stepping back into history. When Nancy, Rose and I arrived one autumnal Sunday, it was all we could not to step back in admiration. “This is fit for kings,” I said, and that royal sentiment stood throughout our stay.
The first thing that we did when we arrived was to take a turn around the magnificent, W. H Romaine-Walker-designed gardens: twenty-five acres of pure horticultural theatre. The grounds deserve their own award, frankly. Yew topiary shaped like drunken chess kings, a Japanese-inspired bridge over a lake, and a rose walk so heady that even out of season, you can almost hear the bees buzzing. There are topiaries, and there is what looks like a grass amphitheatre at the back. Everything is hugely impressive.
Standing a little way away from the house, we could admire it as Tudor fan-fiction made brick: gables, gargoyles, a moat that has definitely hidden at least one incriminating letter, or maybe something larger. Then it was time to head up to our elegant Chamberlain suite, situated in one of the outbuildings of the house, and a beguiling mixture of old and new; period features jostled with modern luxuries, not least a sumptuous bed and free-standing bath deep enough to float a corgi flotilla. Commandeering it, Rose immediately launched Operation Rubber Duck.
After a couple of happy hours dawdling, it was time to head down for dinner, but firstly a pre-prandial beckoned. Nancy annexed a margarita sharp enough to shave with; I took an Old Fashioned so perfectly balanced it could have mediated the Middle East. We gazed at the faces of former guests, who included David Niven and Stewart Granger; both men who knew a thing or two about living.
And then it was time to waft into the Estate Grill, the less fancy and formal of the hotel’s two restaurants. (There’s also a Michelin-starred option, the Tudor Room.) We are served by the excellent Danya, the restaurant manager, who bears his Ukrainian heritage with the calm of a man who has faced bigger upsets than a disappointing cheesecake. When I ask after home he flashes the grin of a born survivor: “If you don’t laugh, you’re going to cry.”
We raise a glass of the excellent Villa Noria Pinot Noir (liquid velvet) to absent friends and present pleasures. Starters: a deconstructed prawn cocktail, which tastes and looks like something decidedly grown-up. Rose, from the safety of her crudites and hummus, declares it “prawn ballet” and demands an encore. My venison loin, cooked the colour of a regimental banner, is festooned with Jerusalem artichoke puree and mulberries. Nancy’s chicken, complete with tarragon gnocchi, arrives so fresh it practically waves. Desserts of banana parfait and chocolate delice, as recommended by Danya, are perfect, and bedtime beckons coquettishly. Slumber does not take long.
We reappear, fresh for breakfast in baronial splendour. No Danya, alas, but we make do with excellent bacon, eggs and a stack of American pancakes tall enough to satisfy Rose’s architectural ambitions. We leave with crumbs on our cuffs, petals in our hair, and the smug glow of those who have remembered that luxury is simply happiness with better upholstery. Great Fosters is not cheap, but then neither is any kind of proper merriment. Bring your family, your sense of humour, and an elasticated waistband. Danya and the ghosts of revellers past will handle the rest.
Great Fosters, Stroude Rd, Egham TW20 9UR. Great Fosters is part of the Alexander Hotel group and a member of Small Luxury Hotels of the World. For more information, including details of gift vouchers for that last-minute Christmas present, please visit www.alexanderhotels.co.uk.
